A Pre-Christmas Memory

I'm thinkin' it must have been about 40 Christmases ago... (Which is completely impossible, of course, because there's no way 1974 was actually 40 years ago. My math must be off somewhere.) Anyway, somewhere along in through there...

My mother, an accomplished and professional seamstress, sewed many of our Christmas gifts when we were growing up. Her project that year was to make five large rag dolls... one for each of us, boy dolls for my brothers, and girl dolls for my sisters and me. This was the pattern:

These were very large floppy dolls... about 2 feet long... so you can see it was quite an undertaking too make five of them, including the clothes. It seems Mother was sequestered in her bedroom with the door closed for days. We children had strict instructions not to go in there because she was working on "Christmas presents." Once our Christmas break from school started it was so hard to obey and not bother her.

One morning, shortly before Christmas, a friend of my mother's stopped by our house. Janie brought with her five large, flat wrapped gifts... and five much smaller ones. Even though it wasn't yet Christmas we were allowed to open them! Each of us received an over-sized Christmas coloring book and a box of crayons! We didn't even have to share our crayons with our brothers and sisters because we each had our own!

Probably a little birdy had told Janie that the preacher's kids needed something to do while their mother sewed. In any case, we happily gathered around the dining room table and spread open our new coloring books. I don't know how many days or hours that kept us occupied, but my mother still gratefully remembers the thoughtfulness of her friend that year.

I'm pretty sure I still have my doll from that Christmas packed away somewhere, along with other cherished rag dolls my mother made over the years. I would have liked to find her and take a picture to show you... but "ain't nobody got time for that" today. (I just Googled the pattern picture above.) But here's a snapshot from that era that I already had scanned. Obviously, it wasn't taken at Christmas time... but oh-so-definitely mid-1970s!

And yes, dear friends and readers, I do have good intentions of getting back to blogging! Maybe that will be a good New Year's resolution!

Merry Christmas to all!

44 Years Ago

About lunchtime today, I got an interesting text message from one of my aunts. She asked if I knew the address of the house my family lived in back in 1969.

I was 3.

Now... I do have a pretty good memory. And I remember quite a few things from when I was 3. But the address of the house we lived in is not one of them.

Another aunt and uncle were trying to find the house, but couldn't remember the address. I suggested asking Mother. They had already done that. She didn't remember either.

We moved away from there that year and don't really have connections there anymore, so I couldn't figure out why they wanted to know.

As it happens, this particular aunt is my Dad's sister. She visited my parents there as a young single lady in 1969. And this particular uncle is my Mother's brother. He was in college there in 1969. And so... my parents played matchmaker. Uncle Keith and Aunt 'Nette had their first date from our house in that small Indiana town 44 years ago today.

 I wasn't much help on their search. All I could remember was that our house had a big front porch and an upstairs. I remember playing on the porch with my twin sisters and baby brother.

Sometimes teen girls from our church would come and take us for a walk.

Later my aunt texted back that they had found the house! I guess they kinda knew the neighborhood well enough to drive around until they found it. So they got an address.

I immediately headed for Google Earth and found a picture of the house as it is now. I thought it was interesting to see how the street and sloping driveway match in the pictures. The tree is different... and a building is gone.

And those sweet little tots? Well, we're all middle-aged now.

Ain't technology grand? Betcha they couldn't done this 44 years ago!

The Antique Buggy

Imagine, if you will, a young mommy in the late 1960s out for a walk with her baby. In your mind, what does that baby stroller look like? Maybe bright and plasticky, with shiny chrome metal bars and such? Yeah, me, too. (Go ahead. Google "baby stroller 1960s" and you'll see what I mean.)

Whatever you had pictured, it was probably not this, huh?

 Believe it or not, that picture was taken in 1966... and the dimpled little charmer? Yep, that's me!

You see, by nature and of necessity, my mother has always been quite frugal. When she needed a stroller for her firstborn baby, she and Dad went to the auction house to look for a bargain.

Alas, there were no strollers to be found. The only thing available was an antique wicker baby buggy circa 1925. Since it was forty years old and so shabby, they were able to get it for $10. Mother declared she liked it better than a stroller anyway, so they brought it home... and plopped me in it for many a happy walk.

I think I remember Mother telling how she used it to cart her wash from their apartment to the laundry room on the premises. She would set me in the back, and put the basket of clothes in the front.

 It was a very generous buggy. Plenty of room for two happy tots. In the picture above, aunt Rachel and I are considering how I should scoot over and make room for her.

See there? This arrangement works out nicely!

 Here I'm sharing with my twin cousins. The girl twin gets to ride in the buggy with me, while the boy twin demonstrates his strong muscles by "pushing" us. I wonder how far he managed to get us on the grassy surface. Looks like some wise adult had probably lifted the buggy over off the sidewalk to slow his progress. Runaway babies would not be good.

 And then, a year or so later, we had twins of our own! Girl twins. So Mommy pushed the baby sisters in the buggy while I pulled a wagon for the puppy to ride in. I wonder how far we got with that set-up? Looks to me like that puppy required a good deal of cuddling and not so much riding in the wagon.

 Not quite two years after that we got a baby brother, and he had his turn in the buggy. Some teens from our church came by to help with the little ones, and took us all for a walk. I remember we girls had strict instructions to hold on to the buggy and not let go.

Regrettably, I couldn't find a picture of my youngest brother in the buggy... because yes, the following year, there was still another baby. Probably we didn't have a camera, or maybe couldn't afford film for the camera, during his buggy-riding days.

After that, the buggy went into storage for many years.

And then, in the 1990s, my mother got it out again. By then it was too wobbly and delicate to be used in any practical way, but it made a perfect photo prop for those grandbabies!

My firstborn baby...

...and then my second one...

...followed by nine cousins over the next few years.

Mother finally relinquished the buggy to my care not too long ago. I am very happy to have it in my living room. We've had a "family" of porcelain dolls cuddled together in it for awhile. I think I'd like to put something different in it now. I'm not sure what, but I'll think of something.

So, for this week's Vintage Thingy Thursday, that's the story of the second half of the life of my antique wicker baby buggy. I'd be very curious to know the stories it could tell of the first half of its life, wouldn't you?

The Summer I was 16

The summer I was 16 I almost met my future husband. It happened like this:

 Every four years our denomination held a General Convention. This was where the preachers and important laymen in the church got together and took care of church business. For us teenagers, it was a chance to socialize with other young people with similar church background.

This was a good fifteen years before the internet went mainstream, and well before practically everybody carried a phone around in their pockets. So we wrote letters. With a stamp. Mailed at the post office. And waited a week or more for a reply. Hard to imagine, isn't it? I had several friends I wrote to regularly, including my aunt Rachel (who was 18 that summer and had just graduated from high school), and my friend, Denise (who was also 16).

That was the year for our General Convention and we girls were eagerly looking forward to it. Mostly with the hopes of finding a boyfriend, though we didn't admit that out loud to very many people. Rachel already had her eye on a guy she had got acquainted with the previous fall, but I wasn't sure exactly who to be interested in.

My family lived in Ohio at the time, and the convention was in Wichita, Kansas. We had borrowed a pop-up camper to stay in on the campgrounds. As we were setting up, I noticed a young man sitting behind the wheel of the little car parked by the trailer in the next camp site. I didn't know who he was. Dad was out socializing and when he came back he told us that was "Brother Cook, the general treasurer, from California" next door.

"I bet that Cook boy likes to drive," was my first impression. I wondered how old he was. He never was in the group of young people we hung out with, so I didn't think too much more about him. I was too busy running around with Denise, having a good time speculating about boys.

Rachel and "Mr. Romantic Porch" quickly hit it off so I didn't see too much of her. And by the end of the week one of the other boys had asked to sit with Denise.

 No one seemed very interested in me. I was too tall, kinda geeky with over-size glasses, and probably not the most brilliant conversationalist. I figured I would probably never get married. It was quite depressing.

And then, on the very last day, as I walked across the campground... that Cook boy winked at me! In that instant I knew that was the man I was going to marry.

That was 30 years ago this summer. And here we are... living happily ever after!

Except that part about the wink? That never happened. He was very reserved and, being from California, didn't know any of the other young people, which is why he wasn't part of the group I hung out with. Of course I had no way of knowing that I had been eyeing my future husband all week.

"That Cook boy" never even knew I existed until the next spring. He doesn't remember seeing me in Wichita the summer of 1982.

But the happily ever after part? That part is true!

The Drive-In Pediater

Have you seen today's Google Doodle? It will probably be gone if you're reading this tomorrow or later... so I've embedded the little video that plays when you click on the ticket. Just a cute little 30-second clip commemorating the opening of the first drive-in theater.

Now, I've never been to a drive-in theater in my life, but the clip reminded me of an incident in my childhood that I thought would be fun to share.


When I was growing up my family didn't go to the movies. We belonged to a church that had a rule against going to the movie theater, so we never went. When I was about five, though, there was a drive-in theater between our house the church, and sometimes on our way home from evening service, we would catch glimpses of a movie playing. Being curious little kids, we eagerly watched for that few seconds of film as we drove past.

Revival week came, along with a visiting preacher. And not just any preacher. No. This was one of the "generals" of our little denomination. He was very friendly and loved little children, and he stayed with us (the pastor's family) during the revival. He offered for my sisters and me to ride in his car home from church the first evening. As we passed the theater, much to our delight a movie was playing. We were so happy to be able to share the experience of seeing the picture at the "drive-in pediater" with our visiting friend.

I'm sure he wasn't nearly as impressed as we were, but he was greatly amused. Every night after that, for the rest of the revival, he eagerly joined us in watching for glimpses of the movie at the "drive-in pediater" on the way home.

Looking back, I remember that dear man fondly, and sincerely appreciate how he didn't make us feel guilty or sinful for being so interested in something that was considered "wrong" by our church, but instead, recognized the innocence of children and chose to share our interest in something so fascinating.

Still... I wonder what it would be like to watch a movie from your car at a drive-in theater. Too bad there aren't many around any more.

Granddaddy's Barn

 Once upon a time a path led from the driveway along the edge of the garden to the barn where the hens lived. Red-the-cow and the nanny goats congregated there morning and evening to be fed and milked. We called tending the livestock "the chores." Usually the teenage uncles were responsible for doing the chores. We little nieces and nephews considered it a privilege to get to help occasionally. It was fun to scoop out a portion of grain or to reach into a hen box and pick up a warm, freshly laid egg to add to the bucket.


The years went by, as years are wont to do. Old Red died. The uncles grew up and went off to college. The rest of us lived other places. Granddaddy's "herd" of livestock gradually grew smaller and smaller, until finally there were none.

The barn is abandoned now, and while my dad gives it a fresh coat of paint every now and then to keep it looking nice, mostly it serves as storage for no-longer-useful-or-needed implements. The used-to-be garden and once busy path are now covered over with neatly mowed grass.

The farm is no longer very productive, but it holds countless memories for the generation of children who once ran barefoot all over the hillside. What a wonderful way to begin life's many adventures.